


fireplace and whiskey...

by startswithhope



Series: sweater weather... [1]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Autumn, Cooking, Domestic Fluff, Drinking, Dry Humping, Fireplaces, Fluff and Smut, Kissing, M/M, Making Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 08:40:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20597891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startswithhope/pseuds/startswithhope
Summary: David cooks Patrick a romantic meal, and almost burns down their apartment in the process. How was he supposed to know about a fireplace flue?





	fireplace and whiskey...

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first of many autumn themed prompts submitted over on my [tumblr](http://www.language-of-love.tumblr.com). I'll be posting all of these as part of a series. Ratings and characters will range with each prompt.

A sudden gust of wind makes the flame of David’s cinnamon and clove candle dance and almost burn out, but it hangs on, straightening itself once again after a long moment in the deep orange glass holder on their coffee table. He’d close the windows, but the last of the smoke still needs to clear from the apartment before Patrick gets home. _So much for romantic whims_, he thinks to himself as he kneels back down in front of the fireplace to try this again, hopefully without setting the apartment on fire this time around. How was he supposed to know there was such a thing called a flue and that thing he’d never heard of needed to be opened before using your fireplace? This is not something people like David Rose are taught. Thankfully, putting _“my fireplace is filling with smoke”_ into YouTube proved quite enlightening. While he was there, he found a pretty handy tutorial on how to light the perfect fire, which he hits play on now.

By the time he’s back on his feet, he’s feeling pretty damn proud of himself. The fire looks just like the digital yule log Twyla had playing on George’s laptop at the cafe last Christmas, just without the random cat that kept strolling in and out of the frame. 

The alarm on his phone goes off and he rushes to the stove, lifting the lid off the pot of butternut squash soup he’s been simmering all afternoon. Giving it a taste, he grabs the nutmeg and tips a tiny bit more in, stirring until it disappears into the buttery orange bisque. It’s been fun finding new recipes online that he can impress Patrick with, but this one is an old favorite. Back in New York, as soon as the leaves would show the first hint of fall color, he’d make weekly trips to the farmer’s market near the park, filling his bags with as many autumn vegetables as he could carry. He’d loved cooking then, usually for himself or a few of his drag queen friends from down the hall, finding that it calmed his anxiety as it forced him to pay attention to the recipes instead of whatever happened to be stressing him out at that particular moment. 

Since coming to Schitt’s Creek, he’d fallen out of practice without a kitchen. With him living with Patrick in his apartment now, he’s taken full advantage of this mediocre, but passable stove. Seeing Patrick react to his cooking, it’s been a revelation, something David has come to cherish as they continue to learn all the little things about each other that only time spent could have ever revealed. 

On queue, David hears the door unlock and Patrick steps into the apartment, his cheeks adorably pink from the early fall chill that’s fallen over the town. 

“It smells amazing in here,” Patrick says with a grin, dropping his keys in the bowl on the counter before pressing himself up against David’s back. Strong arms wrap around his waist and David smiles, shivering slightly at the feel of Patrick’s cold lips pressing a kiss into the side of his neck. After all this time, David’s body still thrums with awareness whenever Patrick is near, his nerve endings firing away like homing beacons, pulsing faster the closer he gets. 

“I think it’s almost ready. You can change and then meet me by the fire.” David tries for nonchalance, but he’s sure Patrick can hear that he’s smiling like a fool. He’s still really proud of that damn fire.

“Fire? Oh!” Patrick’s arms slide free and David turns to see Patrick smiling in wonder at the fireplace. “I wasn’t sure if we’d ever get around to actually having a real fire in there.”

“Oh, it was easy,” David lies, turning quickly back to his soup to give it an unnecessary stir. 

“I’m surprised the flue was open, with this being the first time we’ve used it.” Patrick crosses over to their bedroom and kicks off his shoes before moving to lift his sweater up and over his head. “It’s a little chilly in here, mind if I close the windows?”

“Go ahead, I was just a little flushed after lighting the fire and needed to cool down.” David isn’t a fan of lying, but this is such a silly little white one that he doesn’t really see the harm. Rather unabashedly, he indulges in watching Patrick change into sweatpants and a long sleeve t-shirt, which Patrick notices, earning David a knowing smile. Before leaving the bedroom, Patrick turns off the bedside lamps, leaving the only light left on in the apartment the one illuminating the kitchen. 

David reaches into the cabinet for the bowls, carefully ladling just the right amount into each and finishing with one large sourdough crouton he’d baked in the oven with cinnamon and butter. Patrick appears at his side, eyes warm and maybe a bit sleepy as he grabs for the whiskey and two of the nice tumblers they’d brought home from the store. David carries the soup to the couch and sets the bowls on the coffee table, reaching for the blanket to put over their legs while he waits for Patrick to join him. The light in the kitchen goes out and the small flame from the candle and roaring fire turns their apartment into a cozy light show, oranges and gold dancing with the shadows as Patrick sidles in to join David on the sofa.

He sits close, thighs and knees like magnets as David covers their legs with the blanket and passes Patrick his soup. 

“I wasn’t expecting a romantic date tonight, babe,” Patrick says as he leans in close, “so this is a really welcome surprise.” He kisses David’s cheek, but David wants more, quickly turning his head to catch Patrick’s lips. Patrick smiles into the kiss, pecking David’s cupid’s bow two times before pulling back to turn his attention to his soup. David is suddenly jealous of his own cooking, but if something is going to pull Patrick’s attention away from him, at least it’s this.

They eat together in comfortable silence, their bodies drifting closer together the emptier their bowls get. By the time they’re finished, Patrick is cuddled under David’s arm, one hand curled around his whiskey while the other is tucked under the blanket between David’s knees. It’s perfect. Beyond perfect, really. It’s like a dream come true. 

David takes a sip of his drink, already a bit lightheaded from the strong liquor, but the feeling isn’t unwelcome. He’s comfortably warm, heat from the fire, the whiskey and Patrick’s body melting all the tension from his body in languid, peaceful waves. There’s a small sliver of skin at Patrick’s side where his shirt has ridden up and David takes full advantage, running the pads of his fingertips back and forth until he feels Patrick shudder lightly against his chest. Patrick responds by moving the hand between David’s knees up to the inside of David’s thigh, squeezing lightly as he lets his pinky wander just a bit higher. 

Heat fills David’s cheeks and he takes another sip of his drink, smiling into the rim of the glass as he dips his hand just below the waistband of Patrick’s sweatpants at his hip. They’ve done a similar dance like this before, minus the romantic fire and whiskey, but with one of Patrick’s baseball games playing on his laptop with David pretending to read his book. The conclusion will hopefully be the same.

Patrick tilts his head back to drain his glass before leaning forward to place it on the table, his hand on David’s leg slipping further up so when he sits back he’s pressing right into the crease of David’s thigh. He doesn’t make any other move, just settles back against David’s shoulder as if his actions are completely innocent, which has David squeezing his eyes shut in delicious frustration. There’s an embarrassing shake to his hand when he takes the last sip of his drink, sure that Patrick can feel just how turned on he is by this little game. When Patrick’s hand shifts in that moment to cup David’s erection, the thankfully empty tumbler falls from David’s fingers to the end of the sofa cushion as David’s entire body bows with relief. 

He tries to speak, but only manages to mumble out a broken “Pat..rick…” as Patrick’s fingers tighten and begin to move, the soft fabric of David’s lounge pants creating a mind-numbing friction that’s both not enough and so amazing he doesn’t know what to ask for. But then Patrick is turning and even in the firelight, David can see the desire darkening his usual honey colored eyes to warm molasses. When Patrick kisses him, it’s with intention, open mouthed and hungry, hands now shoving their blanket to the floor before urging David onto his back. 

The fire is hot now as they make out, heat licking at each bit of skin revealed as hands grip at shirts and grope into pants. David loves feeling Patrick’s weight pushing him into the sofa cushions, the scratch of his stubble against David’s cheek as Patrick nibbles on David’s earlobe. It’s the best kind of torture, both of them hard and aching, David’s hands gripping Patrick’s ass beneath his sweatpants as he lifts his hips, smiling as Patrick’s breath comes out in a hot gasp against David’s throat. 

Patrick finds David’s mouth again, curling his arms under David’s shoulders as he slides his tongue past David’s lips, sweeping slow and deep as he grinds down between David’s open legs. It’s just this close to too much and David fears he’s about to fall apart. But Patrick is unrelenting, mouth hot and demanding as he continues to pump his hips, obviously uncaring that they are both about to make an absolute mess of themselves while still wearing their pants. Fuck, David doesn’t care either. Gripping Patrick harder, he gives as good as he’s getting, sucking hard on Patrick’s tongue until they both have to take a few heaving breaths. 

“Fuck,” Patrick pants against David’s lips, “you feel so good, I’m so close…”

“Me too,” David agrees on a long breath, “kiss me again.” 

Patrick does. And David comes. Hips bucking up as he guides Patrick down, his hand sliding around between them to grip Patrick inside his boxers, feeling his release after a few quick strokes. 

David is sweaty and sticky, but he doesn’t care, well, maybe a little, but he’ll deal with that in a minute. Patrick, however, is an unmoving mass on David’s chest, his heavy breathing the only sign of life. 

“You okay up there?” David jokes, squeezing Patrick’s ass with the hand still gripping it. 

“Need a minute,” Patrick mumbles, words barely audible as his head is now buried against the couch cushion by David’s ear. 

They do, eventually, make it off the couch and into the shower, both of them crawling naked into bed with the last of the fire still crackling in the fireplace. As they lie there facing each other on the mattress, Patrick tracing David’s lower lip with his thumb, David sees Patrick’s face light up with a smile.

“So, how long did it take you to realize the flue was closed?” Patrick asks, thumb pressing into David’s dimple the second David’s lips can’t fight his own crooked smile.

“How did you know?”

“I closed it the other day when I saw a few leaves had fallen into the grate. I’m actually a bit surprised you knew how to open it.”

A flash of a memory of a very important day crosses David’s mind and he shuffles a bit closer to Patrick, curling an arm around his waist.

“I watched a lot of YouTube tutorials.”

Patrick gives him a fond smile as he lifts his chin, whispering “very impressive” against David’s lips as they both get lost in a sleepy kiss. 


End file.
